Changbin comes to this bar more often than he should. Not because the drinks are amazing or the music is good, but because you work here.

You are a bartender. A clumsy one.

It is almost impressive how often you drop things behind the counter. Shakers slipping from your hands, glasses clinking too close to the edge, napkins tumbling to the floor when you rush. Changbin always notices. He sits at the bar, elbows resting on the counter, watching you with that amused look he never bothers to hide.

Right now, you are fumbling with a bottle, already apologizing before anything even happens. Changbin reaches out just in time, steadying your wrist before the drink spills everywhere.

“Careful,” he says, low and teasing. “You’re gonna put yourself out of a job.”